Jillian's POV

“Jillian, hurry and come pick Ethan up. He’s wasted!”

“Babe, I miss you so much!”

From his slurred voice, it was obvious that he had drunk too much. I glanced at my phone and saw that it was already one in the morning.

I kept telling myself that he at least knew how to get home, despite being drunk, that he still remembered that I was his wife, and that maybe it had all been just a show tonight.

But another part of me knew better. Three hours after I left was plenty of time for him and that Dulce to do whatever they wanted.

My hand tightened around the thought of the twins inside me, conceived with so much trouble, and despite everything, my heart softened again.

By the time my taxi pulled up at the bar, only Howard and Ethan were left in the private room. Howard greeted me like nothing had happened. “Jillian, where have you been? Ethan’s been calling ‘wife’ in my ear so long I’ve got blisters!”

He said my name with oily smoothness, and I used to like hearing Ethan’s friends call me that. But now that tone felt like mockery.

While getting Ethan into the car, Howard didn’t miss a beat. “Jillian, make him a hangover soup when you get home. He worked so hard to land that client today!”

If I hadn’t seen and heard it myself, I might have been touched. But Ethan hadn’t been risking his life to earn money for me. Whether he’d been trying to close a big deal or to win some hard-to-get girl, I didn’t expose him.

Drunk, he kept smiling like an idiot, and I couldn’t tell whether he was happy for me or for her.

He then leaned against me, intimate in the way that used to comfort me, but now his breath stung of alcohol.

Through the blur in my eyes, I still saw the lipstick mark on the ridge of his ear. That tiny stain set my eyes burning and my chest aching.

By the time I got him home, I was exhausted and drenched in sweat from the effort.

He sprawled on the floor in a drunken starfish and, for the first time, I felt no pity. I didn’t bother carrying him to bed or making him the usual wake-up soup. I was not his maid. I had no obligation to do those things.

I took a hot shower, locked the door, and climbed into bed, but sleep wouldn’t come. His phone kept buzzing in his pocket, and the sound gnawed at me until I fished the device out. It was the first time I’d ever checked his phone.

The screen kept lighting up and, as I stared, my fingers hesitated over the passcode. He had once told me not to worry, that his phone password was our anniversary, so I could always check it. But when I typed the date, the phone said the code was wrong. Obviously, he had changed it.

They said no woman ever walked out of her husband’s phone smiling. With my heart racing, I pressed his finger to the sensor and unlocked it with his print.

There, I saw that the top chat wasn’t mine. It was that sultry girl, Dulce.

Opening their messages sent me tumbling down. They’d been close for a long time. Under a client label I recognized, their chat read like the old, intimate messages Ethan used to send me—sweet, flirtatious, electric. In a single day, he could send her thousands of messages, far more than he had said to me in the last two years.

[Ethan, I’ve reserved a VVIP seat for your performance tomorrow. Please come support me!] Together with that message, Dulce had also sent him the ticket location and seat info.

I just found out that she was an arts student, majoring in piano.

I remembered telling Ethan once that I wanted to learn piano because girls who played instruments had a certain charm. But he’d just shrugged and dampened my enthusiasm, calling piano “pretentious upper-class nonsense.” Yet he coaxed Dulce into competitions and said he wanted to see her shine on stage.

After reading their conversation, I marked the messages unread and went back to lie down, but sleep did not come. When dawn finally allowed me to drift off, I was jerked awake by a knock on the door.

There he was, standing and blinking resentment into the morning light.

“Babe, I slept on the floor all night. Why didn’t you look after me?” he demanded.

How was I supposed to “look after” him? Like a top-class free maid?

“Don’t call me that,” I said coldly. “I’m Jillian, not your babe.”

Jillian's POV

He was flirting with Dulce and already calling her “darling.” Then what did that make me, the official girlfriend? Nothing.

Whenever he called me “babe,” all I could think of was how he’d calculated me into his family as a free maid.

Seeing the dark circles under my eyes, Ethan hesitated, then offered an excuse. “Lost sleep again? It’s that damn client, wouldn’t stop pouring drinks on me.”

At work, Ethan was always smooth with clients. He was the kind of man who got others drunk, not the other way around. And every time he passed out, it had always been when he was with me.

He used to tell me I was his favorite cocktail, which was able to make him drunk without forcing a drop.

Men really could play drunk well enough to make you cry, so I no longer believed his lies.

“It’s fine. Work comes first,” I said, keeping my voice level.

“By the way, you’ve got lipstick on. Wipe it off later,” I added, pointing to his collar.

He followed my finger and then, seeing the mark, his face tightened. “Don’t get the wrong idea, babe. I probably just brushed against someone by accident.”

“Alright,” I replied.

My calm must have convinced him as he leaned in, wanting to reward me with a kiss, but I stepped aside.

If he thought I was “dirty,” why could he still act tender without missing a beat?

My refusal made him frown, and his face hardened. “I won’t be home for dinner. Don’t wait up.”

He then grabbed his keys without ever noticing the pregnancy test I’d left in plain sight.

“Ethan, I’m pregnant—” I began.

But he stood in the doorway, brow knotted, and cut me off irritably, “I’m on my way to meet a client. Stop acting paranoid. Security is something you should give to yourself.”

Once, after meeting a female client, he came back with a long hair on his shirt and the scent of perfume all over him. I teased him if another woman threw herself at him. He embraced me and said, with that indulgent smile, that with me, his favorite person, he had no reason to look at anyone else. Back then, I believed everything he said.

Shortly, he left tidy and primped, even spritzing on cologne like a peacock preparing to court a mate.

After he walked out, I bought a ticket to the piano competition and ordered a bouquet. I wanted to catch him in the act and hear how he’d explain it.

When I snuck into the backstage area, I found them together. Ethan had a water in hand, and they were enjoyingly sharing it like lovers.

“Ethan, I’m so nervous. If I don’t win first place, it’ll be so embarrassing,” Dulce fretted.

“Losing isn’t embarrassing. You don’t know what real shame is,” he shot back.

The words cut me like a blade.

As expected, she mentioned me.

“You’re too kind, Ethan. You saved Jillian, and that’s a great debt. But you don’t have to sacrifice your whole life. While I feel sorry for what happened to her, I just can't get it. If it were me in her shoes, I’d rather die than use my ruined body to shame the man who saved me.” Dulce puckered, deliberately letting her chest press against him.

Ethan’s ears flushed bright red, that telltale sign that he was moved. “Silly girl. Not everyone is as noble as you.”

“If you want, I can stir up the videos. Make them go viral again. Then Jillian won’t have to break up with you. She’ll walk away on her own,” she suggested.

By then, I had gone numb. The thought that had haunted me finally surfaced in full. Was Ethan the one who’d circulated my video again after all these years?

Ethan was silent for a long moment before finally saying, “Let me think about it.”

The man who once pulled me out of the fire had just shoved me back in, and I felt no righteous fury at all. Only a hollow, stunned acceptance.

When it was Dulce’s turn to perform, Ethan jumped to his feet and cheered like a proud fan.

The couples behind us murmured with envy.

“See that? Her boyfriend’s really something.”

Spotlights bathed Dulce in a dreamlike glow. Her pale, graceful fingers danced across the black-and-white keys, and even I felt myself drawn in by the beauty of it.

Soon, the awards came, and Dulce won first place.

Ethan couldn’t wait, and he snatched a bouquet he’d clearly prepared ahead of time and strode onto the stage to give it to her.

“Oh my God, how romantic!” the audience swooned.

Under the lights, they looked like the perfect pair, the kind of golden couple people adored.

“Kiss, kiss!” the crowd chanted, louder and louder.

The two of them turned red and shuffled, embarrassed.

Just when I was sure Ethan would refuse, his lips met hers in a deep, public kiss.

It turned out, he didn’t mind showing off affection, just not with me. He was afraid others would see him with me, who had a scandal.

After a long moment, their lips finally parted.

When the applause washed over them, it hit me too hard.

Clutching my own bouquet, I stepped forward and walked onto the stage.

“Aren’t you going to kiss her a little longer? Tickets were expensive. Everyone was waiting,” I jeered.